


Operation Homecoming? More Like Operation Family Time

by gala_apples



Category: Macdonald Hall - Gordon Korman
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Coming Out, Drugged Mr Fudge, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2800616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Wizzle's been at Macdonald Hall less than twelve hours and Boots already finds himself making committees he wasn't prepared for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation Homecoming? More Like Operation Family Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rubiconjane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubiconjane/gifts).



> I hope this was the babyfic of your dreams, rubiconjane! Happy Holidays!

Boots isn’t quite sure why this task of Phase One is his and Bruno’s problem. Wilbur is a talented weightlifter, he could just fireman carry their dorm minder like Fudge was a sack of potatoes. But no. Of course not. Wilbur’s being used elsewhere, so it’s their job to get Fudge safely on his bed. Together they heave, then drop. Fudge bounces before sliding a little on the satiny sheets, but he stops before he skids right off the edge of the mattress. Good enough for him.

Making order out of chaos is a lofty goal in Boots’ life. It basically only happens when Bruno allows it to happen, when Bruno’s chaos is a slow enough moving force that Boots can throw down a firebreak or two. Tonight specifically he knows there’s no way to derail Operation Homecoming. Bruno’s stirred up a mob mentality, so even if Boots wanted to try to stop things -which he doesn’t, he’s part of Bruno’s mob- he’d only be one voice in the crowd. What Boots _can_ do is obsess over the steps of the phases. Maybe that way he’ll eliminate a few of the obvious weak spots that’ll lead to Fish’s steely eyes staring them down.

Bruno’s congratulating them on a job well done when Boots sees it. There’s a bassinet in Fudge’s bedroom. Not the typical kind, with the long skirt and five layers of white ruffles. This one is shiny and plastic and looks like an oversized egg with a section of shell snapped out. But it’s still a bassinet, and there’s still a tiny tiny creature inside it.

“Bruno. You see that, right?” Maybe it’s not actually there. Maybe it’s a stress hallucination. Boots would be totally fine with being diagnosably insane right now, as long as it’s not actually a baby.

The man with the plan whirls around. The way his face loses it’s spirited confidence is all Boots needs to know.

“You killed a father!”

“It wasn’t me! It was Elmer! And he’s not dead. He’s just unconscious. He’ll get better.”

“Well what are we supposed to do until then?”

Bruno sticks his head out the door and bellows for Elmer. Elmer doesn’t come running, which Boots could have predicted had Bruno asked. They’re in Dorm 3 and Elmer’s sole task for the night is already done, no way is he not already back in his room in Dorm 2 doing some kind of experiment. All that does happen is the baby wailing its way into the frantic discussion. Babies don’t like being shouted at, whoever could have guessed?

“You have a younger brother. Fix it!”

“Edward is like three years younger than me. I didn’t raise him myself in preschool!”

And yet somehow he’s taking the fuzzy onesie wearing screaming machine as Bruno passes it to him. God, he’s so whipped for Bruno Walton it’s ridiculous.

“You’ve held a baby before though. I haven’t. Fix it, and I’ll go run down Elmer and see if his mega-alcohol has an insta-cure.”

Logically speaking it’s probably a good idea. Elmer’s no doubt learned a lot since the first time they accidentally drugged Mr Fudge, years ago. If anyone could develop an instant sobriety pill, it’s Elmer. Emotionally speaking though, if Bruno leaves him to deal with a screaming baby by himself, Boots is going to flip out. The last time Boots felt this on the edge of a nervous breakdown the guys were leaving him in Jordie Jones’ bedroom, and look how that evening turned out.

“No. Nope. No no no. Either we stay here together or we drop the bassinet off on the Fish’s front door and run, but I am not doing this alone. Not for one hot minute.”

Bruno shakes his head. “Hey hey, no need to bring the Fish into it. He won’t react well to this, you know that. We’re going to have to deal with this ourselves.”

Boots would point but he’s got a baby in his hands. His baring his teeth works pretty good though, he thinks. “You deal!”

Bruno pats Boots soothingly on the shoulder. Boots does not feel soothed. “You can’t throw me under the bus, O’Neal. Even if it wasn’t both our faults, the Fish would never believe that one of us is innocent. Look. It’ll be fine. We can do this. You’re holding it and you haven’t crushed it’s ribcage.”

“That’s a low bar,” a new voice says from behind them. Boots shrieks as he startles, and spends the next minute trying not to swoon in relief that his automatic reaction was Shield Baby not Throw Nearest Projectile.

“I think it’s a good start,” Bruno defends.

“Well, I mean yeah, she’s better off uncrushed, but-”

“She?” How does Larry know? It’s not wearing pink. Do girl babies look different? Do their crying noises sound different? Although that at least is calming down. Maybe it -she- just wanted body heat. Boots is always cold and sneezy when he wakes up abruptly.

“Where’s the pink?” Bruno demands. Boots shudders a little. It’s always unsettling when he and Bruno have the same thoughts. Indulging Bruno ranges from fun to terrible, but ultimately he’s supposed to be the thinker to Bruno’s doer.

“You really think that battleaxe is gonna install gender roles into her kid?”

“Who?”

“Dudes, where were you this morning? The Peabody-Wizzles are-”

“Supposed to be here tomorrow,” Bruno interrupts. “That’s why we- _Elmer_ had to drug Fudge. With all the smuggling it was easier.”

“The catered reunion breakfast is tomorrow.” Boots knows that. Wilbur won’t stop talking about it. Before he can say as much to Larry, the messenger boy continues. “But they got in today. She and Wizzle are at Scrimmage’s tonight. I guess they didn’t trust the girls to babysit.”

“Cathy’d feed it Scrimcakes,” Bruno says.

“As compared to us feeding it what?” Boots wouldn’t be in the least surprised by Cathy lacing baby food with horseradish, but Bruno thinking they’re any better is way too lofty a stance.

Larry rolls his eyes. “I’m sure they gave Mr Fudge a bottle. Did you look in the baby bag?”

“No time,” Bruno says easily. “Boots saw the bassinet and started freaking out.”

“It’s really easy to throw people under the bus when you have free arms,” Boots hisses. It’s the best tone he can manage without raising his voice, which he absolutely cannot do. He’s screwed if she starts crying again.

“I’ll admit I was surprised. But we can handle this. Larry knows what he’s doing. And we could probably get some of the other guys. Wilbur, Chris-”

“If you say Baby Committee I will put her down and strangle you.”

“Relax. I’m devising a plan as we speak.”

Boots can think of maybe one or two instances in the last five years where Bruno having a plan was actually relaxing. Still, what’s the alternative?

The whirlwind of scheming behind Bruno’s eyes halts momentarily and the man claps his hands. “Okay. First things first, we take her back to our room. That way it’s totally plausible that Fudge felt sleepy and gave her to another safe guardian.”

Larry nudges the bassinet with his forearm. It doesn’t move an inch. No recessed wheels, apparently. “You carry her, I’ll have to carry this, and Bruno can get the baby bag.”

“You’re volunteering?” Boots asks.

“I volunteer or I immediately get recruited. What’s the difference?”

The short walk down the hall does them all good. Larry gets to demonstrate the muscles Wilbur’s been helping him build up in their spare time. Boots not only doesn’t drop her, he also notices that she seems to like movement. She really is Peabody’s kid, then. And Bruno... Well of course Bruno goes insane. He’s walking slower than the teen coddling the live breakable creature or the teen hefting awkward furniture, and all because he’s got the baby bag open and is rummaging through it. According to Bruno there are tons of things to do, if she’s up for it.

Larry plunks the bassinet in the corner of the room. Boots decides to keep pacing, if only because it’s the only way he knows to keep her happy. Less than a year old and already a drill sergeant like her mommy.

Bruno sits on the floor and dumps the entirety of the baby bag onto the beige carpet. Boots would protest the soother landing mouth-side down, except he doesn’t plan to cram it into the baby’s mouth any time soon. Also, he has to hope the diaper and wipes don’t come into play.

“Boots, check out these plushie blocks. They’ve got house stuff printed on them! Mommy and Daddy want you to be an architect? That’s not too outdated for them?”

Boots manages a shrug without changing his firm hugging grip on her at all. “Architects probably have computer programs, and that’s all Wizzle would care about.”

“Okay, point. Why are you still walking around? Come play.”

“I think she likes being walked.”

“No way. Miss Input Peabody Wizzle wants to play housie, don’tcha?”

Larry laughs. “There’s no way they named her Input.”

“Well Magnetronic sounds like a boys name to me, so Input it is!”

Bruno next unfolds a fuzzy blanket with whales printed on it and starts building the plush block tower. His cajoling Boots and Input to come play is interrupted with the door crashing open.

“You guys haven’t said anything in a while. Is Phase Two-” Sydney cuts himself off, too busy with staring to finish. When he starts talking again he’s totally derailed from the previous question. “Wow. I don’t remember Phase Two having a baby. What’s it’s name?” 

Sydney takes a step towards him and Boots automatically recoils. There needs to be at least a people length between the baby and Sydney at all times. Room for Sydney to trip or faint or what have you, and not land baby-adjacent. Maybe more. Sydney was able to take down an entire gymnasium, who knows what he could do to a soft-skulled infant? 

Boots takes another step back, hollows of his knees jammed against the edge of his bed. He’s developed a bond with her now, he’s not going to let Sydney trip on the fleece and break her leg with his forehead. Just because his destruction is accidental and always apologetic doesn’t mean Boots can let it happen in this case. 

That’s when Bruno takes charge.

“Sydney, how about you go back into the hall? Larry, spill what you know about babies. Boots, if you’re not going to let her play, at least be entertaining somehow. Try humming at her or something.”

The next five minutes are filled with Bruno managing to lure Boots into sitting on the other edge of the blanket and convincing him to set Input down between them to flail her arms like a tipped-over turtle. Bruno gives her a giraffe shaped rattle that she seems basically enthralled with, at least until he draws her attention by shaking a zebra companion rattler.

Then the door to 306 opens again, and this time it’s more than just the school klutz barging inside. Boots isn’t sure how ‘Sydney get out’ translates to ‘everyone on the Homecoming Committee come in’, but he isn’t going to argue it. The next few days are going to be full of people taking things too far, Macdonald Hall and Scrimmage’s alike, and he’s got to ration his quota of _guys, no_ carefully. Otherwise he becomes Bummer Guy, like Perry, and no one listens to him at all. The only thing Boots does with the new variable is pick up Input and get off the floor so there’s slightly more room for the guys and no possibility of trampling.

“So are you guys practicing to be dads now? Shouldn’t you do college before you adopt?”

Bruno freezes in the middle of tossing the floor toys back into Input’s baby bag. “You mean me and Boots? Adopting?”

Mark’s eyes widen. “Oh fuck. This _isn’t_ you declaring yourself husband-fathers, is it?”

“No!” Except Boots can’t really dismiss it out of hand. He would expect a stupid offhand comment like that from Pete. Maybe Chris. But Mark wants to be a journalist. He doesn’t just say things. If he sees something, something’s there.

“Sorry. My mistake.”

“No. No, it’s not. You find stories the way Wilbur finds food. You saw us and a baby and you thought family!”

Boots is freaking out now. He shouted, and they’re probably going to make him shout again. Input doesn’t deserve that in her tiny fragile ears. Boots scootches by the lot of them to deposit her safely in the bassinet. That done, he drops heavily onto the easily buckled edge of his mattress and waits for the next insane thing someone’s going to say that he’ll have to yell at.

“Relax.” Bruno’s hand reaches up to pat his thigh. “He didn’t mean anything by it.” 

The words are casual, believeable, but there’s a tone in Bruno’s voice. You don’t live eat and breathe with someone for five years and not learn the way they hide lies. Boots knows that Bruno knows that Mark definitely meant something by it, just like he knows Bruno doesn’t really hate Edward, but he _does_ not like Boots’ Olympian dad.

“How many of you think we’re destined to stay together?”

There’s silence. It’s the loudest, most telling silence Boots has ever heard.

Pete’s the one to break it. Another sign, that the dumb friend who’s too dumb to see a trap is the one to talk. “Yeah, but you’re going to college together. It doesn’t mean we’re calling you gay.”

“Why not though? You thought we’d live together and co-raise a kid. What’s the difference between that and gay? Kissing? You wanna kiss me, Bruno?” Boots asks a little hysterically.

Bruno is uncharacteristically serious. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

“Bruno it’s a pretty easy question.” There’s only two possible answers.

“Right. All I have to do is say no and we’re proven best friends forever.”

Boots doesn’t need the body language of half a dozen nearest and dearest to let him know there’s a second layer to Bruno’s words. “Or you can say not no.”

“And wouldn’t that be stupid and reckless,” Bruno replies, on the edge of bitter. It’s a bad tone for him. Boots hates it.

“Reckless is your middle name!”

“Oh, and is homo yours? Because I was under the impression that you liked Cathy.”

“I wonder where I learned to be attracted to brash ridiculous behaviour and a scarily loyal attitude?”

It’s possible that Boots is learning a few things about himself, here.

It’s possible that his highly repressed crush he hasn’t even figured out the origin of yet is a surprise to no one else in the room. Likely, even, considering Mark’s gay adoption comment.

It’s possible that Bruno hasn’t had the luxury of repression. Certain actually, probably, if you go by the weird way he’s acting now.

Boots wonders how long Bruno’s wanted this. The fact that he hasn’t set up a scheme to make it happen is mind-blowing. Just off the top of his head Boots can think of fundraising kissing booth, demonstrating mouth to mouth in health class, and supporting professional out athletes. The last even has the bonus of destroying York Academy when they inevitably get homophobic mid-game. No one can make a hit like an enraged Wilbur Hackschleimer. But Bruno hasn’t, and Boots is beginning to guess why.

Bruno’s still sitting on the carpet looking down into Input’s baby bag. Boots is facing his back, looking at the back of his head specifically. He doesn’t need a facial expression to know Bruno’s unhappy. Not histrionically, tantrum throwing unhappy, like when Mr Wizzle made them wear ties, or when he couldn’t get a spot as an extra in Jordie’s movie. Just honestly, deeply unhappy. Boots doesn’t like it. He wants Bruno back in proper coalition-starting form.

“What happens if you don’t like it? I can’t spend my last semester with another masking tape line.”

It figures that the one time Boots wants to move forward without thinking, Bruno’s the one with consequences on the brain. Luckily he knows how to play to Bruno’s strengths. “Of course not. That would ruin the sanctity of Macdonald Hall. We’re the powerhouse of this school. The kings, even. That’ll stay true no matter what. But if there’s a chance for romance I think we should try.”

Bruno scoots in a half circle until he’s looking at Boots’ knees. He looks up but makes no other move. It’s up to Boots to lean down until he’s stomach to thigh and start what he probably should have already realised was a long time coming.

It’s a different experience, kissing Bruno. Not because it’s a weird time for it. The first time Boots kissed Cathy was in a riot, girls in nighties and boys in t-shirts and boxers running aimlessly around them. Nor because of the crowd watching across the room. Being a spectacle is one of the prices you pay to be in Bruno’s in crowd. Not even because Bruno’s a boy. That’s new, it’s true, but it’s not something Boots thinks he cares about.

This is different because it’s the first time Boots has ever led a kiss. One of the many things Scrimmage’s girls are is sexually confident. Maybe not what Scrimmage was aiming to teach them, but definitely a better life lesson than demureness. But Bruno’s not acting like Selma or Joan or Cathy. He’s hesitant. Passive. It’s bizarre. 

Boots pulls away and Bruno’s face shatters. No one audibly gasps, but the room still feels like a held inhale.

“Stop it. I stopped because you suck at kissing, not because you scared me straight.”

“I don’t suck at kissing.”

“Kinda looks like you do,” Pete blurts. 

Bruno looks at the crowd squashed onto his bed. That gesture is somehow a cue for everyone to chime in about how, yeah, not your best Walton, and you’d kiss Mrs Sturgeon like that. 

Boots can’t read Bruno’s mind in this. He’s not sure if it’s the ego goading or the undertone of ‘we don’t care that you’re gay, just be good at it’. Whatever connects, Bruno twists back and kisses with the gusto meant for Bruno Waltons of the world. It’s not a revelation, Boots did that already, but it is amazing. The best kiss he’s ever had.

And it’s promptly interrupted by the dual sounds of a fire alarm and three hundred girls screaming.

“Didn’t we tell them to not riot until tomorrow?” Larry asks.

Sidney shrugs his reply, which ends in a painful clacking noise as his shoulder catches his jaw and forces his teeth closed. 

Wilbur outright laughs. “No one tells Cathy Burton what to do.”

Bruno claps his hands then pushes off his knees to stand up. “Well, come on. Lets go save the girls.”

The majority of the room storms out to join the other seven hundred boys crossing the highway to ‘rescue’ the girls from whatever they’ve cooked up. But there’s a baby in the bassinet, and they can’t just leave it unattended.

“Should we drop her off at Elmer’s?”

“Nah. Show’ll be over by then. Let’s just take her with.”

“Bruno, I don’t think that’s a good-”

Bruno’s got a backpack sort of thing on his chest, no doubt taken from the baby bag, and he’s sliding Input into it, tiny socked feet poking out of leg holes. “Your favourite uncles are going to bring you to your very first riot. Aren’t you just the luckiest girl, getting to start so early?” 

And then Bruno is running out of the room, and Boots is bolting to catch up. Because best friend or boyfriend, soulmates don’t let soulmates crash thousand student riots alone.


End file.
